


both were climbing for a finer cause

by mandyfuckinmilkovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich Week, M/M, Tumblr Fic, weird angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandyfuckinmilkovich/pseuds/mandyfuckinmilkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey’s regrets could fill up this entire baseball field.</p>
            </blockquote>





	both were climbing for a finer cause

**Author's Note:**

> Gallavich Week Day Four Prompt: Hurt/Comfort. I don’t know if this counts as hurt/comfort but that’s what I wrote it for so there.

"What’s your biggest regret?"

They’re somewhere out in left field passing a joint back and forth. Ian’s spread out next to him, his long limbs stretched out like a pale, freckled starfish, Mickey’s head resting on his arm.

"Fuck you talking about?"

"Gotta write something for school."

Mickey snorts rudely, taking a long drag, ignoring Ian’s hand curling into his hair. He likes getting high with Ian because the excuses disappear. He can fall back on a fuzzy head and smoke in his lungs as he reaches for Ian’s hand. He doesn’t have to hide or feel stupid or ashamed.

“‘m not givin’ you tips Gallagher.”

Ian laughs, tightens the hand in his hair, curls his body into Mickey’s. Mickey keeps his eyes on the sky, his face brushing Ian’s chest and he breathes in the smell of laundry detergent. Ian always smells different, clean or dirty or smelling like a flowery shampoo. Ian always smells good to Mickey.

"Not asking for tips. Just. Want to know."

Mickey’s arms are loose around him. He thinks and he doesn’t want to. He thinks about the last time he saw his mom, how pale she was and how the light had disappeared from her eyes. He thinks about dad always keeping a gun in the back of his jeans. He thinks about Mandy sitting on the toilet crying. He thinks about Ian sharing a bathroom with his sisters and griping about having his brother’s hand me downs and not having anything of his own. He thinks about himself and holding Ian’s hand while he’s sober and not kissing him after they fuck and wondering about it all the same.

"Fuck you, regrets are for pussies," he says, fumbling around Ian’s belt, sticking a hand down his jeans and pressing his lips to Ian’s neck.

Mickey’s regrets swirl around his head and fill his lungs and chest. Mickey’s regrets could fill up this entire baseball field.

Ian will never be one of them.

//

"Why didn’t you call me? Text?"

Mickey rolls his eyes, keeping a firm grip on the magazine. Keeping his fingers from shaking.

"Mickey." Ian walks around the counter and crowds him, crowds his space and his head, and takes the magazine out of his hands and Mickey turns away from him, his heart in his throat.

"I didn’t need you. It’s fine."

"Mick-"

"I didn’t need you, jesus, fuck off."

He walks quickly to the back, walks from Ian and his dumb face, his dumb worry, his dumb hands. He catches sight of his bruised eye in the glass, remembers the blood dripping onto his phone, the rush of his fingers on the keys and how much he’d wanted to hit ‘send’. How much he’d wanted to see Ian, to have some place to go, some place that wasn’t home, some place that was his. Theirs.

Mickey’s eye hurts like a bitch and because he’s a masochist, he kicks a box into the wall, hearing glass break and his foot crack. The money to replace the broken liquor comes out of his paycheck and Ian won’t stop staring at his face.

//

Ian touches him carefully sometimes. Like he’s breakable. Like he’s soft and warm and new and everything Ian’s ever wanted to have.

"Come on," Mickey whines against Ian’s shoulder, his ankles hooked around his back, their chests sweaty and tight against each other. Ian runs a hand through his hair gently and Mickey almost melts.

Instead, he digs his heels in, digs his fingernails into Ian’s back, feels the muscles and the skin, feels Ian’s breath hitch.

He doesn’t want to be touched carefully. He doesn’t want Ian to learn how to put him back together without even knowing he’s doing it. He wants to be broken over and over.

//

_It’s you,_ Ian’s face says after Mickey says, “I’m done. Done, done.”

_I regret you, I regret you so fucking much._

Mickey keeps himself from throwing up in an alley, sad green eyes weighing down on him. Mickey always knew this would happen. He knew he’d always be one of Ian’s regrets.

_I regret me too._

//

Ian doesn’t come to visit him the second time around. And it’s fine. It’s what Mickey expects. He doesn’t hold that against Ian, it’s Mickey’s fault, it’s always Mickey’s fault. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t let it happen. He wanted to keep them close, inside, and ended up pushing them away.

Mickey lays in his bed, trying to drown out the sounds of his cell mate jacking off, and trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest.

He asked for this. He’s got no one to blame but himself.

//

"Missed ya."

Ian’s face does this stupid lighting up thing when he smiles wide and he’s still buckling his pants and Mickey feels like he did the right thing. For once, he did the right thing.

//

"I’m sorry," Ian says, his hand trailing over Mickey’s waist, over the fabric of his boxers and stopping somewhere between his hip and bellybutton. His thumb strokes his skin, causing goosebumps and a light head. Mickey can barely concentrate on what he’s saying.

"Sorry for what?"

"Before." Ian leans his face into Mickey’s neck, his mouth open and breathing hot and wet.

Before. The fuck does before matter? Mickey grunts and pushes and pulls at Ian’s skin, thinking before was so long ago, before was just yesterday. Before was them getting caught, before was Mickey’s leg bleeding, before was "hello boys". Before was Mickey being so scared and panicked and afraid and Ian clutching at the threads as they unraveled. Before was the both of them not knowing how to hold on to each other.

"I didn’t understand. I just. I’m sorry."

Ian lays there, his face pressed into Mickey’s neck, and Mickey holds him. Wonders if either of them really understand and thinking they don’t. He has no idea what he’s holding in his arms. The power it has over him. The power it wants to give him.

Mickey thinks it could destroy everything, even them.

//

"I missed you too." Ian whispers to him one night when he thinks Mickey’s asleep. His back is to Ian, Ian’s arm loose around his waist, his nose in between Mickey’s shoulder blades.

"I missed you so much, I couldn’t breathe sometimes." His breath is warm and Mickey’s throat feels so tight. He remains still, Ian’s hand soft and light on his stomach.

"But you don’t need me. You never need me. Like I need you."

It’s 2am and Mickey tells himself that’s all it is, it’s 2am and Ian can’t sleep and they finished a six pack together and that’s it. That’s it.

Mickey’s throat is tight and his eyes sting long after Ian’s breathing has slowed. Mickey turns gently, turns to face Ian. Leans in so he can smell him, feels his breath on his face. Mickey doesn’t sleep for a long time, not until the sunlight streams through his window.

//

"What’s your biggest regret?"

Ian pauses, bent over a shipment of boxed noodles, and he looks at Mickey, eyes wide and questioning, his mouth pulled into a frown. Mickey feels crazy, he feels like he’s freezing, like he’s on fire, like he’s about to jump off a cliff. He’s antsy and his fingers itch for Ian. He can’t breathe, he can’t see, he can only see Ian.

"Because for me…"

Ian’s straightens and takes a step forward. Mickey stands still, everything paused, everything moving forward so fast. And if he doesn’t do this, he never will. He’s never been brave before, Ian makes him do everything he never thought he could.

"I’m fucking in love with you."

Ian’s face is dumb and beautiful and perfect and he reaches for Mickey. Mickey lets himself fall.

"You regret that?" Ian’s eyes are shining and he’s biting his lip, his hands firm on Mickey, his head leaning towards Mickey’s.

"I can’t."

_I can’t make myself. I can’t make you. I can’t do anything but this._

Ian’s mouth closes over Mickey’s, soft and warm and Mickey clutches at him, wanting him as close as possible. Mickey gives Ian the power to destroy him and he can’t regret it. He will regret everything else in his fucked up life. But never this. Never Ian.


End file.
